Stand-up comedians often dream of their 15 minutes of fame, hoping to parlay fleeting popularity into lasting recognition.
But imagine if that opportunity was reduced to a mere 60 seconds, in front of 20,000 people at a sold out Madison Square Gardens in New York city, with the whole experience recorded and left on YouTube forever.
Not to mention being made a punchline for two of the hottest comedians in America: Shane Gillis and Adam Ray as part of the ‘Kill Tony’ live comedy podcast.
No pressure, right?
Kill Tony is a comedy podcast and live show hosted by Tony Hinchcliffe and Brian Redban, the producer behind the Joe Rogan podcast. Similar to a talent show, amateur comedians sign up and perform a one-minute set uninterrupted, with a panel allowed to brutally pick apart the performance afterward.
The catch? The lineup is picked at random out of a bucket.
Most normal, sane people would view this as a nightmare scenario.
One comic who had their name pulled out of the bucket withdrew just moments before stepping onto the stage, completely overwhelmed by the pressure.
But the surreal moment my name ‘Alexa Cimino’ rang out around the famous arena will forever be etched in my memory.
Having only done stand-up comedy since March, I was intrigued by Tony’s raffle-like system. I had my ‘tight five’ performance down pat, so I picked my strongest minute.
The worst-case scenario? Not getting picked. Best-case scenario? Performing in front of a sold-out crowd at MSG.
As Hinchcliffe often says, ‘anything can happen’ and it does: Many are unprepared, some are belligerently drunk, or there are people like me, who had never watched an episode but jumped at the chance to perform at the world-famous arena.
I had waited in the ‘sign up’ line on the first day of their show, even convincing my editor to let me out early from work (sorry Barclay, but hey, look what happened!).
I arrived at 4 pm, thinking an hour was plenty of time to secure my place in line for the 5 pm sign-ups.
I was very wrong. At least 800 aspiring comedians had been waiting in sweltering 95-degree heat since 11 am by the time I arrived.
Only 300 to 400 were let in. I didn’t make the cut that day, but I was determined.
The next day, I came prepared. There were only 20 or so people in line when I arrived at midday, so I was golden. I chatted with the other comics, who had flown in from all over the country.
They seemed to be in good spirits, some bringing snacks, bottles of water, or passing down beers to the back of the line.
It felt like a comedy tailgate party where instead of football, we discussed the Kill Tony ‘bump,’ referring to the possible career boost that could come from being selected to perform on the show.
When it was time to sign up, we were herded like cattle through metal detectors and made to sign waivers for our performances to be broadcast on YouTube for the entire world to see.
We were given wristbands and ushered beneath the arena. I recognized familiar faces from the local NYC comedy scene in the line up.
I quickly touched up my makeup, which had melted off in the heat, before the production crew confiscated our phones and led us upstairs to the arena.
On the left side of the stage, a special section was reserved for comics who had entered their names in the bucket.
A live band fired up the crowd, and the show kicked off.
First came Tony, followed by Redban, and then a lineup of comedy stars: Shane Gillis as Donald Trump, Adam Ray as Joe Biden, and comedian Dave Attell. Harland Williams joined the panel later.
As Tony began explaining the bucket pull system, that’s when I realized I had willingly signed up for three hours of anxiety, because no one knew who was going to be called.
I quickly swapped my sneakers for a pair of red heels. I had my lip gloss in my right hand in case I needed to reapply at the last second, and rosary beads in my left hand.
I couldn’t stop shaking.
I whipped out my trusty red joke book, frantically flipping through the pages. Knowing I’d probably be so shocked I’d forget my own name if called on stage, I needed to strategically select jokes that were second nature. Like, the kind of jokes I knew so well, I could recite them in my sleep—or, more accurately, on my forearm, where I’d discreetly scribbled my five best ones.
Once Tony pulled a name out of the bucket, he handed the piece of paper to a production assistant, who then wrote it on a white board for all the comics to see.
By the sixth draw, my nerves had calmed. With so many names in the bucket, I figured I was safe. I was just about to take a bathroom break when I saw my name on that white board.
So it turned out my chances of being called were far higher than I thought for one reason: I was a woman.
The overwhelming majority of comedians who volunteered were male, highlighting the scarcity of women in comedy.
Tony wanted a woman, and had one last bucket pull left for Saturday night’s show, so he kept drawing names until he found one: mine.
I was rushed backstage by the production crew, my face pale and my hands trembling. The production assistant started laying down the law: ‘Don’t touch the judges, don’t go over your time, and when you hear a kitten’s meow from the soundboard, it’s your cue to wrap it up.’
The only thing I could say was: ‘I’ve never even watched this show before.’
The producer chuckled and said: ‘It’s usually not this crazy.’
And then I heard Tony introduce me to the audience.
‘Ladies and gentleman, I do believe this is going to be the first female comedian of all of the Madison Square Garden Shows.
‘Make some noise for Alexa Cimino.’
The roar of the crowd was deafening, with the anticipation and excitement sending a shiver through my body. I was still clutching my rosary in my left hand.
‘Dear God,’ I prayed silently, ‘if you’re listening, I hope you laugh too.’
I walked up the stairs, picked up the signature red microphone, and looked out to a sea of 20,000 faces stretching out before me.
You could hear a pin drop.
The spotlight hit me, and I took a deep breath, feeling a surge of adrenaline as I launched into my set.
The words tumbled out with a confidence I didn’t know I possessed. The crowd’s laughter echoed throughout the arena.
In comedy terms, I had ‘killed it.’
Months of perfecting every joke and punchline paid off that night. I managed to banter with Shane Gillis who was dressed as Donald Trump after asking him how his ear was post assassination attempt. When I cheered his response, he said he ‘liked’ me after initially fearing I was a ‘disgusting b***h’.
It was funny – but you have to watch it to understand.
After being interviewed by the panel, I was awarded a ‘big’ joke book, a prestigious symbol that a bucket pull had impressed the judges. (If you bombed, you were given a comically small joke book, one that you couldn’t even write a grocery list on.)
Stepping off the stage, I was greeted by some of the most famous names in comedy, offering their congratulations and shaking my hand.
Ari Matti, a Kill Tony regular – and now my newfound celebrity crush – gave me the biggest bear hug in the world.
‘You did absolutely amazing,’ Ari said, his thick Eastern European accent as prominent as ever.
(The throughline of my set was about my affinity for foreign men. Ari, if you’re reading this – call me).
I can’t remember the rest of the performances that followed because I was in shock. I made my way back to my seat, the other comics embracing me, offering praise, and taking turns checking out the custom leather joke book.
After the show, I was bombarded with congratulations, autograph requests, and so much love—especially from female audience members. It took me nearly an hour to leave the venue.
I saw the Kill Tony bump take effect in real time. It’s been one month since performing at Madison Square Garden, and I’m still on cloud nine – performing with renewed confidence.
For the first month, the MSG specials were behind a paywall on the Kill Tony website.
Clips of my performance circulated social media, with one being watched over four million views.
Now, both nights have been posted on YouTube. I’ve received an overwhelming outpouring of support, from messages and comments to being recognized more and more in the comedy world.
My life has been completely transformed in ways I never could have imagined by that one-minute performance, and I’m eternally grateful (and lucky).
In a few weeks, I’ll find out if the Kill Tony bump is real – or if I’ll be back to climbing the stand-up ladder from scratch again.